


Blackout

by whatshouldntbe (orphan_account)



Series: Secrets [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Lydia Martin, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, BAMF Stiles, Banshee Allison Argent, Confused Stiles, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, Family Issues, Genderqueer Character, Kanimas, M/M, Magic Revealed, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Stiles, Other, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Friendship, Stiles Takes Care Of The Pack, Supernatural Elements, Trapper Witches, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/whatshouldntbe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It never occurred to Stiles that this is what it would mean to be an Argent. (Argent AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Which Witch

_The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance._

_**― Alan Watts** _

888

" _I'm the Alpha now_."

Stiles runs the words over and over in his mind, combing through it for some kind of explanation.

Lydia smirks and lifts the butcher knife he threw at her with patient amusement. She frowns quickly at her reflection and says, “God, my hair,” like she isn’t _naked_ with _blood_ and _dirt_ splattered all over her skin. She sighs thoughtfully and stabs the butcher knife into the tree beside her and chips off bark go flying from the force of it. It sticks out and twinkles tauntingly with the moonlight.

“Lydia,” Stiles says, and that’s all he says for three beats. “Kate is dead.”

Lydia smiles suddenly. “So is Peter, but you and I aren't going to cry over them are we?”

Stiles swallows and his fingers twitch anxiously. “Nope. No weeping over funeral pyres, for us.”

Lydia smirks and looks at him with those cold red eyes. It's not right.

Stiles stares. That’s all he can do for one breathless moment because he’s not even sure if this is his best friend he’s talking to or some—some—

“Monster?” Lydia says with a gravelly voice. “It’s okay. You can say it. I see it in that stupid face you make sometimes.”

Stiles swallows again as he glances to the butcher knife briefly. “What face?”

“The kind that makes me want to punch you,” Lydia replies calmly with steady red eyes. “I’m not different, you know. Just more— _more_.”

“How, uh—” Stiles feels blood surging and rushing through his entire body, twitching with adrenaline and anger and confusion. “How—how much more are you now?”

“Funny story that,” Lydia mutters as she studies her bloody claws lazily. It’s so odd, how calm she is, it’s so odd. She looks up at him and flashes a bit of fang. He's taller than her but she still gives off the impression that she's two heads taller than anyone else in the world.

It’s slightly disconcerting. Stiles swallows dryly again. “Care to—to share with the rest of the class?”

Lydia’s smirk widens and it’s absolutely terrifying.

Stiles’s gaze drifts to the knife sticking out of the tree. It moves slightly and Stiles has to blink rapidly because that can't be right. Things don't just move on their own.

Lydia tsks, as if she knows what he’s thinking. “Don’t do that, Stiles. Don’t treat me like I’m something you need to hunt.”

“Then tell me what to do here!” Stiles snaps and looks back at her. “I don’t even—no one is telling me anything!”

Lydia strides forward and begins to circle him, sniffing at him quietly.

Stiles fingers twitch as his arms lay limply at his sides and he tenses when she escapes his line of sight before she presses herself against his back with a low rumble. She’s like a furnace against his backside. She uses her bloody claws to rip open the collar of his dress shirt so she can slide her nose along his exposed collarbone.

Stiles shivers at the contact and goose bumps break out all across his skin but he isn’t afraid. She won’t hurt him, she cant. She _cant._

“You smell sad,” Lydia murmurs, plush lips searing hotly across his pulse point. She gives a lazy lick and rumbles contently. Scenting him—she was _scenting_ him. “I should bite you.”

Stiles trembles angrily. “Don’t,” he chokes warningly.

Lydia growls and she wraps a clawed hand around the back of his neck so she can shove him to his knees. She grips his hair and forces him to look up at her in all her wild, naked glory. She looks untamed and daring. “Why shouldn’t I? I have all these tiny receptors blinking into my brain, telling me I should. My wolf wants me to. You smell like home, like cub, like _mine_.”

Stiles breathes for a long moment and tries to find his best friend in those red eyes. He tries so very hard to focus on that and not think about the distance between him and that butcher knife. He won’t be Kate. This may be an Alpha but it's still  _Lydia._ He can sort this out rationally. He quietly says, “You can’t.”

“ _Why_?” Lydia hisses as her eyes flash dangerously and she looks so greedy and selfish and confident. She honestly sounds confused.

Stiles feels his hands begin to tremor and the air suddenly feels too sharp. The ground feels like it's pulsing underneath him and the wind whispers through the trees, and it's like he can hear the forest talking to him. There's a panic attack coming, and his heart thumps painfully fast because he's so confused.

"Tell me why I shouldn't."

Stiles licks his lips and says, “Because I don’t want it. I don’t want you to. And you would never force that on me.”

Lydia says nothing. She stares down at him for a long moment before she looks at his Adam’s apple with a predatory gleam. “I don’t know if I can help myself. I’m sorry, I just, I really want to because you smell like—I—” She pauses and blinks. The red in her eyes shudder like static. “I already bit Erica and Isaac. But they wanted it. They should want it. Peter and Derek used to say that the bite is a gift.”

“Lydia,” Stiles intones quietly. “I don’t want it.

“I ran into Jackson,” Lydia continues and her claws flex in Stiles’s hair. “He knew and I don’t know _how_ he knew but he smelled like—and he asked me to—because he understood that only an Alpha can. He said it’d only be right if he belonged to my pack. He wanted it and I gave it to him even though I didn’t care. I didn’t care about any of them. After I killed Peter, I needed…” Lydia stares at his throat like she can’t help it. “I needed you. You were already— _you are_ pack.”

“Lydia, don’t,” Stiles beg, his voice trembling. “I can still be pack but I—I’ll be human, okay? Please don’t. I would hate you. You know I would.”

Lydia growls and shoves him away as she wanders over to the tree with the knife sticking out of it and circles it as she begins to partially shift. Her wolf form looks even more severe than before. “I need you, Stiles. I need—you’re pack,” she whines.

Stiles can hear the struggle to control herself in her voice but he can’t make himself care. He’s still upset about his mother and his sister. He rises to his feet. “What happened tonight? Lydia, you need to tell me. If you care at all—”

“Of course I do!” Lydia snaps but her words come out like a bark. She looks so wild—naked with dirt and blood and bushy hair. Her red eyes keep shuddering like static. “I did what I had to do tonight for you! For us! For everyone!” She begins to claw at the tree angrily.

 _“Did it include tearing my sister to shreds?”_ Stiles shouts.

Lydia stops and stares at him. “You think I had something to do with that? You think I had any idea?" she shouts back.

"Well I wouldn't really know, now would I? You have too many secrets. Your secrets have fucking secrets!" Stiles snaps.

Lydia shakes her head. "I didn’t—that was—it was Peter. Peter lured Allison to the Hale house as bait for your Aunt Kate. Kate brought your mom and she got caught in the crossfire.”

“How did he even—how did he even get Allison to—”

“Matt,” Lydia interrupts and she twitches like she wants to tackle him to the ground and—and—

Stiles blushes. He’s read about this. New Alpha’s have this thing where they go on a rut. He knows Lydia must be out of her mind because she doesn’t want him like that. They’re like siblings. “What happened to Matt?” he asks, clearing his throat pointedly.

Lydia twitches again and blinks before she says, “Peter killed him. He caught up with them just as they were eloping and he took them. He’d been planning it for a while. He went all the way to Vegas for them.”

Stiles realizes with sickening clarity that all this time his sister was being held captive by a maniac. All those unreturned calls from Allison suddenly made sense and Stiles feels _sick._ Had Derek known? Had Scott?

“I didn’t know,” Lydia swears. “Neither of us did. Only Boyd and Danny were in the loop. Derek, Scott, and I had been training to take Peter down because he wanted to bite everyone in the whole damn town. He was insane. But we still didn’t know about Allison or Kate.”

Stiles clenches his trembling hands into fists.

The butcher knife in the tree tremors.

Neither of them notice.

“Peter had Allison clawed up by the time we worked it out. When we all got there, your mother was on the floor and he had Kate by the throat,” Lydia continues as she watches him without blinking. “I didn’t think he’d hurt Allison. But the next thing I knew was that Kate was crying how sorry she was for the fire that killed the Hales. He made her repeat it at least eight times before he tore her throat open. Derek tried to take him down with Scott but he was too strong. So Isaac threw something on Peter and Erica—she—she did something, I don’t know. It was like magic and suddenly Peter was on fire.”

Stiles knows what comes next but he just stares at the shaking knife sticking out from the tree as his body goes numb.

“When Peter fell, I took advantage of it because Derek or Scott would’ve and it—they don’t see the bigger picture. We have to make—to be pack. Something's bad coming. Peter drew too much attention to himself with his theatrics and not there’s a coven of Trapper Witches—” Lydia stops as her nose twitches and she seems at a loss for words. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

Stiles exhales shakily as his eyes begin to water. He doesn’t know what he thinks about all of it. He just knows that his older sister and his mother got hurt and he wasn’t there to do anything about it because they didn’t tell him anything. “You should go,” he whispers hoarsely. “You should go because I really want to hurt you and if my sister doesn’t pull through…”

“Stiles—”

“I don’t want to hate you!” Stiles snaps before he turns his back on her. “Please don’t make me hate you.” He swallows and walks away as his chest swells with anger and hurt. “I need time to think,” he whispers, but he knows that she can hear.

“Peter’s dead, Stiles. And I think I know why he was trying to involve you. I need to keep you safe from—”

“Don’t,” Stiles warns quietly. “Just give me some space.”

Lydia doesn’t protest as he disappears into the house.

The butcher knife stops trembling.

His mother is still lying undisturbed in her bed when he returns. It’s comforting in a way, but it does nothing to dull the anger he has at the sight of her black eye and bruises. He climbs in to bed and curls up beside her.

Sleep doesn’t come for a long while.

888

Sunlight breaks through Erica’s curtain and touches Isaac’s cheek. The first thing he smells as he opens his eyes is the small box of raisins wedged behind Erica’s dresser on the other side of the room. The next thing he smells is burning oil and fat and gas and cigarette ash. Isaac knows instinctively that Erica’s mother is cooking bacon and smoking downstairs.

The next thing his nose hones in on is the aroma of the two bodies he’s crammed between on Erica’s queen-sized bed. First he scents Scott: prepubescent sweat, cinnamon, wet dirt, old blood, contentment, a little bit of Isaac and Erica, and a good portion of Derek and Lydia; then he scents Erica: vague hints of incense, cigarette ash, wet dirt, old blood, restlessness, a little bit of Isaac and Scott and a good portion of Lydia with—something else, something he can’t quite work out.

Isaac blinks his eyes open and Erica’s ceiling of hanging paper lanterns comes into startling focus as his ears catches the sound of a weak heartbeat (Erica’s mother) and two that sound so similar to each other’s (his and Scott’s). He wonders if this is what it means to be pack. To smell of each other and to share the same steady rhythm of hearts.

Isaac frowns when he notices that Erica’s heart doesn’t beat to the same rhythm as his and Scott’s. Erica’s is faster, much faster. It’s strange and confusing. He sits up carefully and slides his nose along her neck to scent out that difference. When he finds it his frown deepens because she smells somewhat acrid, like the smell of a candle that has just been snuffed out or the smell of metal burning white-hot.

Erica suddenly sits up and stumbles out of bed, startling Isaac and waking Scott. “Gotta pee!” she moans as she shoves forward towards her bathroom and hops out of her pajama bottoms. She plops right on down on the toilet with a relieved sigh and doesn’t even care to close the door.

Erica has no shame.

Isaac’s nose wrinkles as the sound of liquid slapping against porcelain cuts to his sensitive ears and the smell of pee drifts over. Not to mention the smell of—is that—she _wouldn’t_ —

“Dude!” Scott complains, slapping a pillow over his face. “Werewolf!”

Isaac completely sympathizes, which is why he clamps his fingers over his nose and uses his eyes to locate some type of air freshener or even a candle.

Erica laughs as she toes a pair of her jeans closer and fishes for her pack of cigarettes. “Hey, it’s no fun for me. Trust.” She pauses to light a cigarette as she grunts. “Don’t you guys dare act like your shit doesn’t smell either. Remember Six Flags in eighth grade?”

Scott groans.

Isaac feels a hot flush of embarrassment rush through him. He and Scott had begged Erica to come on the Full Throttle with them even though she had warned them that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Long story short, she had been right. It had been so intense that Scott and Isaac had both crapped their pants and had to wait for Scott’s mom to pick them up because Scott refused to take the bus back. Erica had been a total trooper about it though, swearing off the bus to catch a ride back with them.

Jackson had made fun of them for weeks afterwards, up until he shoved Erica into the milk cart and Isaac had retaliated by breaking his nose and giving him a black eye.

Erica exhales grey smoke and grunts again. “Oh yeah, I had to deal with the smell of that the whole drive back and not once did I ever say anything.”

“You weren’t a werewolf then,” Scott weakly argues through the pillow. “And plus, didn’t you laugh at us the whole time?”

Erica shrugs. “It was funny.”

Isaac rolls his eyes but he can’t help but to grin a little. It kinda was funny.

Erica snorts and takes pity on them by kicking the door shut.

Scott sits up beside Isaac and leans towards him until they’re nose to nose. He stares.

Isaac lifts a brow. “Can I help you with something? Because although you’re attractive, I’m still kind of carrying a torch for Erica, and I’m pretty sure you’re still into Stiles.”

Scott winces but he doesn’t pull away. His fingers skate over Isaac’s side where Lydia had bit him. The skin there is unmarked and Scott sighs with relief but he still smells like worry. He says, “How do you feel?” and the staring intensifies.

Isaac shrugs and resists the urge to seek out Lydia. That’s gonna take some getting used to. He says, “Overwhelmed. Everything looks like it’s in HD. I can smell _and_ hear everything. I think there are two cats fighting up the block and Erica is eating a week old candy bar as we speak, which is gross by the way, and the neighbor next door just bumped into his coffee table. Oh, look at that. Erica’s mom just hawked a loogie somewhere. It’s all very charming.”

Scott smiles understandingly before he frowns. “Erica she—” He glances to the bathroom before he pitches his voice so low that Isaac wouldn’t be able to hear it if he wasn’t already on the verge to becoming a full-fledged werewolf. “She smells off. She doesn’t smell like you or me.”

“Yeah,” Isaac says quietly. “What do we smell like though?”

“Like pack. Like Lydia’s. But something’s different about Erica,” Scott says with a furrowed brow. “You think maybe the change takes longer with females?”

“Hard to say,” Isaac replies truthfully. “There’s not a lot of lure on she-wolves. Plus Erica’s always been different, you know. What did she smell like before?”

Scott looks down at Isaac’s collarbone as he thinks about it. “Candles that have burnt out. Earthy. Like—like—” He stops suddenly as he meet Isaac’s eyes. “Like Stiles’s mom.”

Both of Isaac’s eyebrows shoot up. “Okay.” He nods slowly before shaking his head. “Okay, I have no idea what that means.”

“Yeah, me neither. But I think Lydia does,” Scott supposes before he lets out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know though. There’s still a lot that Derek and Lydia don’t tell me— _hasn’t_ told me. They know something.”

“So let’s confront them,” Isaac suggests. “If something is happening with Erica, we should know about it. She should know about it.”

“Assuming she doesn’t already,” Scott mutters before he plops back and stares up at the ceiling. He touches his hand to Isaac’s almost instinctively.

Isaac isn’t sure what that means but he lets it happen. “Any word about Allison?”

Scott shakes his head. “Lydia wants us to keep an eye on her in case she might have to intervene. Derek wont stop texting me. He wants me to sniff her out and see if she smells, you know, like pack or something.”

Isaac doesn’t say anything. He thinks about the bloody mess Peter made of her before they could reach the Hale place in time. He didn’t much know Allison but he still felt pretty sick about it. “And Stiles?”

Scott shrugs but he’s gnawing at his bottom lip anxiously. He smells like desire twisted in depression.

Isaac wrinkles his nose.

The door to the bathroom swings open and Erica stands there in a tank top and powder blue underwear. She says, “Guess what, bitches?”

Scott sits up and he and Isaac look at her with raised brows.

Erica whips up her tank top and exposes her very perky chest. “No scars. No bite marks. All healed up.”

Isaac stares at her chest.

Scott makes a strangled sound and mumbles something that sounds like “gross, Erica” and “you’re like my sister, put them away” and Isaac doesn’t even know because he just _stares_.

Erica smiles wickedly at him and winks.

Isaac flushes and finds the decency to look away. If Erica _was_ a she-wolf, she’s definitely going to be trouble.

Scott grabs his phone and makes himself scarce.

Erica offers Isaac the rest of her week old chocolate and it’s gross but he doesn’t love her any less for it.

Quite the opposite actually.

He’s hopeless.

888

Stiles has a habit of looming when he’s worried.

Which is why Victoria glares at him whenever he tries to forcefully intervene at any given moment. “I’m not a porcelain doll, dear. I can manage just fine on my own to the bathroom, or making my own coffee. And if I want to cook you breakfast, I can cook you breakfast.”

Stiles scowls with folded arms as he watches her putter around the kitchen like she wasn’t in the midst of a werewolf brawl the night before. “Mom, I don’t think you’re even supposed to be on your feet. Dad said the doctor said you should take it easy since your ribs—”

“Genim,” Victoria merely says in a prim tone.

Stiles mouth hangs open for a moment and he weighs his options of pressing the issue before he shuts his mouth and sulks. He glares balefully at the spatula in her bandaged hand as she flips over some eggs and bacon.

Victoria hums pleasantly.

Stiles fidgets on his stool as he drums his fingers restlessly on the island counter.

Victoria turns the burner down some and continues to hum.

Stiles lasts five minutes (a true record, really) before he bursts, “Aren’t you in pain?”

“I can handle pain.”

“I’m not going to pretend like this isn’t important!”

“No one asked you to, dear. We all have our way of dealing with things.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t just a _thing_. You almost—and Allison…” Stiles drifts off; lost in the shiver of dawning horror as it really sinks in. He almost lost everything last night and he didn’t even _know._ He was at a stupid dance talking to a guy he didn’t even like about something that was probably meaningless at the time.

Victoria pops a few slices of wheat bread into the toaster, and it eats at him that she can act so unaffected. She says, “Your sister will pull through.”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

“It’s not even a question.”

“But what if it is.”

“It’s not, dear.”

“Mom, _please_ ,” Stiles croaks because he needs her to look at him and really talk to him and not _at_ him.

Victoria pauses with a sigh before she turns the stove off and gingerly sets down the spatula. She turns and walks over to Stiles and crosses her arms. “Pain is a given for people like us, Stiles. When you let Scott in and accepted what he was, pain was inevitable. You think I didn’t know the moment that that boy stepped foot in this house? Being as old as I am? Please. I’d better be able to recognize and you need to start recognizing too. Now that you’re eyes are open, now that you’ve gotten a little small taste of this reality—and believe me it is far worse than what you can imagine—you’ll have to always be ready to deal with whatever consequences comes with each and every decision you make. The life of a hunter—”

“Don’t,” Stiles growls wetly, and he scrubs at his eyes furiously when he realizes that he’s on the verge of a tearful meltdown. “I get what you’re saying but don’t twist this into some kind of training exercise or pep talk. I’m human. You’re human. Please don’t treat this like it’s nothing. Like it wouldn’t matter if you or dad or Ally weren’t—weren’t—” He can’t even bring himself to say it.

“Okay, okay,” Victoria shushes and cups her hands over his wet cheeks. “I just want you to be strong. That’s all I ever want, and you are, in your own way.” She sighs as she eyes him before she grabs a napkin to dab his cheeks dry.

Stiles scowls and bats her hands away.

“You know, my parents were tough on me,” Victoria says suddenly. “If they saw me shed even a single tear over scratch or over anything, they’d confine me to my room and make me write lines about what my priorities should be. My sister Claudia—” She stops abruptly and Stiles can see that it’s a sensitive topic in the way she shuts down before she steps away.

Stiles cocks his head curiously. His mom never talks about her side of the family and he’s always wondered why. “I didn’t know you had a sister,” he admits. He wants to ask.

Victoria’s face becomes very guarded and she licks at her thumb. “Yes, well.” She uses her saliva to rid Stiles of the dried drool on the side of his mouth.

“Ugh, gross,” Stiles yelps. “Mom!”

Victoria smiles sharply before she clicks back over to the stove. “We have the same DNA, Genim.”

“Doesn’t mean I want it all over me,” Stiles mutters as he uses the napkin already damp with his tears to wipe his mother’s spit away. “Why the hell do parents like to do that? Is that a thing? Am I going to have the urge to do that when I’m a dad?”

“Language,” Victoria merely says as she sets a plate of food before him. “Eat. The sooner you finish, the quicker we can get to the hospital.”

Stiles shovels his food into his mouth hastily.

Victoria glares disapprovingly but there’s something soft and fond about the way she clucks her tongue and shakes her head as she drinks her cup of steaming coffee down.

Stiles makes sure to smile widely at her with as much food puffing out his cheeks as possible.

“I’ll ground you,” Victoria warns before standing and disappearing.

Stiles snickers. He knows she wouldn’t. Probably. But just to be safe, he makes sure to eat the rest of his food in a more dignified manner.

Victoria returns not a moment later with a glass of orange juice and two Adderall pills, staring at him until he takes them before she sits down across from him again.

He watches his mom eat her food and keeps his eye out for any detection of weariness or fainting spells.

Breakfast goes without a hitch.

Stiles allows himself to relax enough to leave his mother to clean the dishes while he runs and takes a shower. His heart thrums with an anxious beat as he thinks about Allison. His dad had stayed with her all night at the hospital and even though Stiles has checked maybe a million times, there had been no texts or no calls from Chris with bad news—or good news—but maybe no news was the best news.

A half hour later finds Stiles sliding into the passenger seat of Victoria’s silver Mercedes while she settles in the driver’s seat.

Stiles buckles his seatbelt and waits.

Victoria putters around for a bit, grabbing her designer sunglasses, gauging the temperature of the car, and looking for a strong signal on her digital radio before she finds a news stations. She keeps it low and presses the garage remote resting above her head and clipped to the edge of the sun visor.

Stiles fidgets.

Victoria then starts adjusting her seat.

“Oh my god. Mom.”

Victoria smiles a little. “I’m teaching you patience.”

“You always say that,” Stiles laughs and rolls his eyes. “Everything doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Victoria hums and turns to him with a serious expression. “You’ll be turning sixteen soon.”

Stiles frowns, unsure of where this is headed. “Yeah, uh, in some cultures that can be considered a big deal. You’re not going to throw me a sweet sixteen or anything because right now isn’t—”

“You’re birthday is in a week,” Victoria barrels on, ignoring his rambling. “I know what you must think of your father and I and our lifestyle but we do what we do to protect you and your sister. And I know that I may be a little severe in some ways or not as affectionate as other mothers—”

“Mom…”

“Let me finish,” Victoria says, holding a well-manicured hand. She takes a deep breath. “Now that you and your sister know the truth, I think that we should all sit down and talk about some things.” She pauses and studies him. “Since your birthday is around the corner, you might start to feel, a little, different. More so than usual.”

“Are we talking puberty or is this something else?” Stiles asks in confusion. “You’re being really cryptic.”

“Believe me, I know. I didn’t ever—I had _hoped_ to never have this conversation, but I’ve been noticing some things about you and it might be unavoidable. So for now, just know that even if it seems strange or bizarre, you can come and talk to me about anything. I had a hard time with certain things when I was sixteen and so did my sister and—” Again, Victoria stops abruptly and gets this pinched look.

Stiles takes pity on her and puts his hand on her small shoulder. “I get it, mom. I do. I can talk to you about anything.”

Victoria nods. She places her hand over his briefly before she puts the car in reverse and begins to drive backwards down their driveway.

Stiles turns up the radio, which is a very, very bad idea because—

“ _Good morning, this Yvette with WBBH, coming back to you with our top story. Local citizen Kate Argent went on a psychotic rampage, attempting to take the lives of her family members, as well as the lives of some unnamed high school students before she took her own life. She was found sometime last night in the remains of the old Hale residence which perished from unprovoked arson, which authorities now believe she may have been involved in, as well as being linked to the gruesome murders that have been occurring at odds over the past several wee—”_

Victoria shuts off the radio before gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Did you know about that? The fire?” Stiles asks.

“Not until later,” Victoria reluctantly admits. “Not until she appeared and explained exactly why she came back.”

Stiles turns away and looks out his window at the passing scenery. “People are going to talk,” he mutters.

“They always do,” Victoria agrees. “But we have to stick together as a unit. As a family. And I don’t know what the doctors will say when we get to this hospital but I believe that Allison will recover from this because she’s strong.”

Stiles smiles sadly to himself.

“She was bitten,” Victoria says.

Stiles whips his head around to look at her.

Victoria face is a mask of indifference. “Peter’s claws went deep enough. There’s no mistaking what comes next.” She grows silent for a moment, almost pensive. “Your father and I have talked about what we’ll do. What it might mean for us. For all of us.”

“If you make her go, I’ll go too,” Stiles swears. “Or if you kill—”

The upcoming light, which had just turned green, suddenly switches to red.

The street lights flicker on and off and it’s freaking Stiles out because it’s the middle of the morning and street lights _don’t_ do that.

Victoria slams her foot down on the brakes and the car jerks to a stop. She whips a glare at him. “Don’t you ever think.”

Stiles swallows dryly as his heart tics wildly. The air grows thick between them, and it feels sharp with static almost.

Victoria lifts a finger and repeats more softly, “Don’t you ever think.”

Stiles nods rapidly.

“I’m prepared to lay down my life for you and Allison. Regardless of anything else,” Victoria promises. “Do you understand?”

Stiles nods rapidly again.

“You’re my children and I love you. It’s terrifying the things I would do. But I would do them,” Victoria swears. “You treat your sister like your sister. No matter what happens. You watch out for her and you protect her when your father and I can’t. Understand?”

Stiles nods and nods because he’s partially terrified and in awe of his mother. It’s like he’s seeing her for the first time.

Victoria exhales as her fingers twitch and the streetlights stop flickering before the light signal turns green.

Stiles tries not to think about what that could mean.

The rest of the car ride is spent with the both of them stewing in silence.

When they make it to the hospital, there are a cluster of reporters waiting outside with their cameras and their microphones and questions.

His phone also won’t stop buzzing with messages.

_Can we talk? –Scott_

_We have to talk. –Lydia_

_I’m giving you space like you asked. –Lydia_

_Lydia and Scott are both being all broody. I’m thinking you have something to do with this? You know we suffer by association to right? –Erica_

_We don’t have to talk today. It can be whenever. –Scott_

_Sorry about Allison. –Isaac_

_Stiles. –Lydia_

_Stiles. –Lydia_

_Stop giving everyone the cold shoulder. The people responsible for all the chaos is dead. –Erica_

_Remember what we promised? We’re supposed to be in this together. –Lydia_

_I’d understand if you hate me. But I hope you don’t. –Scott_

_You need to get over what issues you have about what happened and talk to Lydia. There are bigger things to worry about. You’re involved whether you like it or not. –Derek_

Stiles glares at the screen of his phone before he switches it off with an angry swipe as they exit the car. His father is already waiting outside for them to help them navigate through the media crowd and to take them up to Allison’s room.

The journey there is a silent one.

Stiles stops in his tracks when they reach the window of Allison’s room and he takes it all in. He exhales slowly and looks through the glass at his sister stretched out on the hospital bed, pale and bruised. She’s bandaged from head to toe where the claw marks probably aren’t anymore if his mother’s suspicions are correct.

Allison’s chest rises and falls slowly; her breath is fogging the oxygen mask resting over her bandaged face. It hurts him to see her like this. It makes him angry and bitter. But angry as he as he is—he can’t do what his instincts are telling him to do—to hurt those who he feels is responsible, human or not. They’re still his friends and he knows that they did their best.

But watching his sister like this—in that bed, looking almost half-alive—it really makes him want to ignore all moral conscious and create a reckoning. He’s stuck between his heart and his mind. This is a lot more difficult to handle and a lot harder to swallow then he realized. Seeing Allison like this makes him want to reevaluate his life.

It never occurred to Stiles that this is what it would mean to be an Argent.

Victoria and Chris are talking in low tones with the doctor but Stiles can still make out the “ _The longer she stays under, the less likely it is she’ll ever wake up_ ” or the “ _she’s healing faster than we initially guessed, and it’s quite remarkable_ ” or even “ _if she does recover completely, the trauma of what she went through may completely impair her both emotionally and mentally. She won’t be the same_. _I recommend aggressive psychiatric treatment._ ”

Stiles can’t bear to hear anymore. He just wants to get in there and hold his sister’s hand, to talk to her. “Dad,” he rasps and looks over at his parents.

Chris’s brow furrows in concern. “Why don’t you take a walk?”

Stiles shakes his head with a stubborn frown. “I wanna be in there with her.”

“We’re still keeping her quarantined. She has too many open wounds and we don’t want to risk infection by introducing her body to any outside agents,” the doctor explains.

Stiles fingers begin to tremor and the lights in the hall flicker.

Victoria looks at him sharply. “Go take a walk.”

Stiles gets ready to protest but Chris steps in and says, “Go check on your friend. He’s been here as long as I have.”

That throws Stiles. “Friend?”

“Yeah, his name is escaping me,” Chris confesses and indicates to the end of the hall where the waiting area is.

Stiles glances at his sister one last time before he makes a moody exit with the lights blinking after him.

The doctor says, “We should get someone to look at these lights.”

Stiles scowls and continues on until he’s forced to make a hard left, but when he does he bumps into someone. He yelps in surprise but hands reach out and grab his upper arms to keep him steady. It’s the last person he’d ever expect to see.

Jackson, stupidly good-looking as ever, Whittemore.

“Dude,” Stiles breathes and gapes at him. “What the hell?”

Jackson looks uneasy and he quickly lets go of Stiles so he can take a few steps back. “You should watch where you’re going, Argent,” he mutters, but his tone lacks its usual acid.

“Why are you here?” Stiles asks as he brushes himself off.

Jackson looks at him, unimpressed. “Allison.”

Stiles just stares at him and makes a motion for him to continue.

“I’m concerned, you moron,” Jackson huffs with an eye roll. “I went to go park my car and I came up to check on yo—to see what was up,” he quickly corrects. “I ran into your dad and he said he sent you home with your mom. So I just—I decided to stay.”

“But why?” Stiles blurts with wide eyes. “I didn’t think you cared much for me or my sister.”

“I don’t,” Jackson grits out, forcibly. “At least not for you.”

Stiles furrows his brow, not because he’s offended, and he could care less, but because Jackson is actually cryptically admitting to having feelings. Having feelings for his _sister_. “Oh man. You’re not like, _into_ her or something are you?”

Jackson stares at him like he’s an absolute imbecile.

Stiles barrels on nonetheless, “Because it’s a lost cause. Especially after what happened and she—she doesn’t even know about Matt yet. Or maybe she does but it’s—you’ve got no chance.”

Jackson sighs and rolls his eyes again before turning his back on Stiles and heading towards the vending machine area.

Stiles really isn’t known for taking a hint. He follows. “Okay. Okay. So maybe you’re not into her that way. But you’ve been gone for a whole month.”

Jackson pointedly ignores him and starts cramming quarters into the coin slot of one of the machines.

“Did Lydia put you up to this?” Stiles asks because it’s the only thing that makes sense. “Some kind of weird Alpha command or something?”

Jackson tenses and his mouth twists unhappily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Stiles frowns and glances around before lowering his voice. “You can fool everyone else but you can’t fool me. I know what’s going on. Lydia told me she bit you.”

“I. Don’t. Know. What. You’re. Talking. About.” Jackson glares at him and dares him to say something.

Stiles flails angrily. He shoves Jackson’s shoulder. “Don’t be an asshole. Werewolf or not, I can still kick your ass with a led pipe wrapped in wolfsbane.”

Jackson sighs and glances back to the machine where a Reese’s packet is stuck between the glass and the edge of the coil. His frown deepens.

Stiles rolls his eyes and shoves at the machine.

Jackson reaches out and catches his wrist in a loose grip. “Don’t.”

“You paid for it.”

“I don’t care. It’s only fifty cents. Not worth being smashed to death over.”

“That’s just something they say to scare you off of getting what’s rightfully yours. Either you get it or someone more determined than us will.”

“No.”

Stiles glares and yanks his hand away. “Fine. Whatever.”

Jackson eyes him suspiciously before making his way to leave. He stops midway and turns to say, “Lydia doesn’t know that I’m here. It’s really no one’s business. Let’s keep it that way.” Then he’s gone.

Stiles is left feeling frustrated and confused. If Allison were awake he’d grill her for answers. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions. He sighs and waits a few moments before he turns back to the vending machine.

The Reese’s gleams at him tauntingly.

Stiles presses his hands to the glass and rocks the machine slightly.

The Reese’s doesn’t move.

Stiles rocks it again, a bit harder this time.

Stiles really gives it a good push and before he can blink the lights inside the machine blink rapidly and the glass starts to fracturing into cracks and splinters in the form of spider webs.

Stiles yelps in surprise as the glass finally busts open and he throws an arm over his face to protect himself. Somehow he manages to stumble in the midst of this and fall back on his ass. He drops his arm and almost swallows his own tongue as he watches with wide eyes as the machine begins to hover off of the ground and float all the way up to the ceiling.

Stiles gawks when the back of the vending machine slaps to the ceiling like it’s being magnetized and it stays arrested over his head as it’s contents empty over him in a rainfall full of candy bars, chip bags, gum and so on and so on until the machine is left barren.

He stares stupidly up at those empty coils, half-way buried in a pile of goodies.

This exactly how his mother finds.

“Genim!” Victoria snaps in alarm.

Stiles squeaks and looks at her. “ _I didn’t do it!_ ” He pauses and blinks. “ _What? Wait, what? Am I speaking Archaic Latin? Why does it feel like I’m speaking Archaic Latin? How do I even know what Archaic Latin **is**? Am I possessed? Is this what possession is? Is there some kind of Latin demon in my body right now? I don’t smell any sulfur. Should I be smelling sulfur? Oh God, can you even understand me?_ ”

“ _Be quiet,_ ” Victoria replies primly in the same dialect as well. “ _I can understand you but you need to calm down_.”

Stiles shuts his mouth with an audible click.

Victoria’s mouth twists unhappily and says, “ _Get up._ ”

Stiles gets up.

“ _Step from under the machine_ ,” Victoria instructs.

Stiles steps from under the machine.

“ _Release it._ ”

Stiles struggles wordlessly.

“ _Release it._ ”

“ _I don’t know how!_ ” Stiles says as he flails because this is something to freak out about and why isn’t she freaking out like he is. “ _Are you possessed to? Are we just two demons talking to each other. What the hell is going on?_ ” Yup, there’s a panic attack coming.

“ _Stiles concentrate and calm down. You are not possessed. Breathe in._ ”

Stiles takes a gasping breath in.

“ _Hold_ it.”

Stiles knows what to do next. He holds it in and counts to twenty.

“ _Good. Exhale. Very slowly._ ”

Stiles does as she says, and when he exhales the machine slams into the ground with a loud and unmistakable crash. He winces.

“ _Step away from it quickly,_ ” Victoria warns before she swipes her right hand through the air. What happens next is like watching a movie in reverse. The machine springs back against the wall in it’s original upright position and all of the snacks on the floor go jumping back into it in their proper places before the glass jolts together and mends itself.

A herd of nurses pop up a moment later, looking for the source of all the commotion and when they don’t find the source they eye Stiles and Victoria suspiciously.

“Everything is fine,” Victoria assures, switching back to English gracefully. “My son got a little carried away with the machine. His candy was stuck.” She shoves a Reese’s into his hands.

Stiles gapes down at it stupidly because how did she manage to even get it?

“Stiles,” Victoria grits out and elbows him.

“Huh, oh uh, yes. That happened,” Stiles babbles and he flushes when the herd of nurses gives him the stink eye as they disband. “Wont happen again!”

One the older nurses actually harrumph at him.

Stiles fidgets once their left alone. He opens his mouth.

Victoria quickly lifts her hand. “Not right now. I need to go sit down for a moment. I haven’t practiced magic in a very long time and—” She swoons.

Stiles quickly reaches out to steady her.

“I’m fine,” Victoria insists but she doesn’t protest when Stiles puts her arm over his shoulders and walks her to the nearest chair. “Get me some water. _Not_ from the vending machine, dear.”

Stiles flushes and reroutes his feet. “Right, probably shouldn’t do that,” he agrees and asks the first nurse he comes across if their some kind of water cooler around. When he locates one he fills about four cups to the brim with water and struggles as gracefully as he can with them.

Victoria gives him an unimpressed look.

Stiles just smiles and watches her accept each cup grudgingly. He waits about five minutes before he blurts, “So, magic? That definitely beats possession. It’s a relief really.”

Victoria looks at him sharply.

Stiles lowers his voice and says, “Does this make us witches?”

“Later,” Victoria bites out into her last cup of water.

Stiles fidgets but he nods. “You relax. I’m going to go stare wistfully at my big sister for a while.”

Victoria snorts and waves him off. “Keep your temper. Your _abilities_ relies on that.”

Stiles nods seriously before he navigates his way through the hallways. He spots his dad standing in front of Allison’s window with Jackson and he frowns.

Chris pauses his conversation when Stiles reaches them.

“Mom’s sitting down. You should totally go check on her. She did the uh,” Stiles pauses and glances over at Jackson briefly as he chooses his next words. “Full Sabrina, if you catch my, you know, drift,” he says as he awkwardly twiddles his fingers and lifts both brows with a significant look.

Chris frowns in confusion before a dawning look of surprise falls over his features. “You stay here, I’m going to go and,” he makes an indication and Stiles nods. He looks to Jackson and holds out his hand. “Jackson, it was nice meeting you. Good to know Allison has a friend like you.”

“What?” Stiles says sharply.

Jackson ignores him and reciprocates the handshake with a half-grin that shouldn’t look as charming as it does. “I’m the lucky one, Mr. Argent. It was nice meeting you too.”

Chris nods one final time before he wanders off in search of Victoria.

Stiles watches him disappear around the corner before he shoots Jackson a look. “Dude. You know my dad’s a hunter right? Like werewolf type of hunting.”

Jackson shoves his hands in the pockets of his designer jeans with a shrug. He’s never look so unconcerned.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “When did you find time to change? Was this before or after Lydia bit you?”

Jackson sighs and faces Allison’s window. “Go pester someone else, Argent.”

“There is no one else,” Stiles says and flushes because that came out wrong.

Jackson looks at him oddly. Then his nose twitches and he scowls before turning away again. He tenses and crosses his arms. “Your boyfriend’s here.”

“What?” Stiles says because what?

“McCall,” Jackson grits out and keeps his gaze forward pointedly.

Stiles turns around and Scott is suddenly right there, glaring over Stiles’s shoulder at Jackson like he’s the villain. “Jackson,” he says lowly. “What are you doing here?”

“Jerking off. How about you?” Jackson retorts.

Scott expression sours. “You shouldn’t be out. Lydia said—”

Jackson doesn’t stick around to hear the rest. “At least I’m not here to spy,” he throws over his shoulder before making himself very scarce.

Stiles frowns before looking at Scott. “What did he mean by that?”

Scott suddenly looks sheepish.

“Scott,” Stiles hisses. “Did Lydia tell you to spy on my sister?”

“Not…exactly?” Scott tries and winces under Stiles’s glare. “It was more Derek’s idea really. Lydia kind of agreed in that standoffish way of hers.”

“I’m going to strangle both of them,” Stiles swears as the lights begin to flicker. He winces and tries to calm down.

Scott cocks his head as his nose twitches. “You smell different.” Then he frowns. “Has Jackson been touching you? Did he—did he do something, um, untoward?”

Stiles can’t help the short laugh that rushes out of his throat because what?

Scott lights up and looks so stupidly happy that he even made him laugh and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“ _Untoward_?” Stiles repeats with as much skepticism he can muster. “We bumped into each other and steadied me? What were you thinking?”

Scott flushes and that says enough. “I don’t like him.”

“I don’t either.”

“He likes you,” Scott complains. “You probably can’t tell but—” He stops suddenly and looks over Stiles’s shoulder. His face hardens. “Shut up,” he whispers.

Stiles frowns. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No, not you. Jackso—” Scott stops again with an angry scowl. “Well don’t listen then!” he hisses lowly.

“Scott,” Stiles says. “Can you not—can you be here for a second? Just ignore Jackson. Why did Derek send you?”

Scott twitches like he wants to shift and Jackson must be laying into him about something. He exhales. “Parent-teacher conference is tomorrow?” he says suddenly, looking really worried. He scowls again. “Stop laughing!”

Stiles sighs longsufferingly. It’s like talking to someone who’s already on the phone.

“Why would I get expelled for that? If anything, you would too,” Scott protests. He groans suddenly. “You _wouldn’t_. You’re evil. Why woul—”

Stiles cuts him off quickly because he’ll tear his hair out if this goes on any further. “Skate back onto topic, big guy. What exactly does Derek think will happen with my sister?”

Scott’s brow furrows and Stiles refuses to find it adorable. He huffs and says, “He isn’t sure. She could be, you know, like me.”

“Well tell your little werewolf pals not to concern themselves, okay? My parents and I have it covered,” Stiles says, frowns and then adds, “I think. We haven’t really talked about it yet. There’s some other stuff going on now.” He thinks about his newfound witchy powers.

“But your parents, I mean, they’re not going to kill her or anything are they? Because we can take her. We can teach her control. She needs a pack,” Scott insists. He quickly adds, “Shut up, Jackson.”

“Allison isn’t orphaned. We’re not throwing her to you like she’s the ugly stepchild,” Stiles corrects. “I don’t know what my parents plan on doing. With everything that’s happened—I don’t know. We’re figuring out.”

“Okay,” Scott says, agreeable. “That’s fine. Totally fine.”

“And it’s not just up to us. Allison is her own person. She can do what she wants,” Stiles points out.

“You’re right,” Scott says and twitches. Jackson must be teasing him again. “Completely right.”

“And if she wants to join Lydia’s pack then that’s her business,” Stiles continues. “Or maybe she’ll want to put an arrow through Lydia’s heart or even Derek’s. I won’t vote on it but she might.”

Scott looks alarmed. “You think she’d really want to?”

Stiles shrugs. “Allison is very good at archery. Very good. Competitively.” He makes sure to emphasize on that and enjoys the way that Scott’s eyes widen with terror and awe. “Back when we lived in Tokyo she actually was considered a master and she taught classes to little kids.”

“Wow,” Scott says.

“Yeah,” Stiles says with a small smile as he turns towards the window and watches his sister. “She’s a real dork about a lot of things. She likes to try any and everything. But she’s always been good at that.” He sighs shakily and presses a hand to the glass.

“How are you?” Scott asks, stepping closer.

Stiles shuts his eyes and tries not to think about how bad he wants to embrace him or how much he’s missed him. “I’m angry,” he replies truthfully.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Scott replies quickly. “But I swear to you, no more secrets. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just ask.”

Stiles exhales before his anger can grow. He feels tired all of a sudden. “Lydia made it all perfectly clear last night,” he mutters.

“Yeah, she uh, told me,” Scott says carefully. “I should’ve been the one to do that. I ended things badly but I didn’t have a choice. Peter’s gone now so I don’t have to worry about keeping everyone safe. I mean I do, but not like before. It’s—you don’t have to worry.”

“Well I do, Scott,” Stiles says as he looks at his sister. “I have a lot on my plate right now so maybe you ending things was the right move.”

Scott is curiously quiet for a long moment before he reaches out and wraps his fingers around Stiles’s elbow. “Hey. Look at me for a second,” he begs softly.

Stiles exhales again and shakes his head. “I can’t. I can’t because if I do I’ll change my mind and I really need some space to think. I can’t look at you without being angry.”

Scott slides closer until his lips brush the shell of Stiles’s ear and he says, “Then close your eyes.”

Stiles inhales quietly and closes his eyes. He doesn’t resist when Scott turns him and slides his hands down his sides until they rest on his waist. Stiles’s fingers twitches and he gasps quietly when Scott kisses him, first gently and carefully like he’s trying to memorize all the little details of Stiles’s lips. Its not long before it morphs into something hungry and desperate; Scott’s tongue is hot and fierce as it works it’s way into his mouth with such blatant wanting.

Stiles feels his toes curl in his shoes, and he’s forgotten that it can be like this with Scott; so pure and simple, yet eager and frantic. His hands wind up in Scott’s hair, twisting and pulling as the kiss deepens and for one breathless moment Stiles can only think of the way his body thrums like a river with wild waves.

But the moment Scott moves to press him back against the window, the cold glass touching the exposed skin of his lower back where Scott’s got his shirt hiked up is like a bucket of ice. The fact that his sister is lying on the other side of that window twists the kiss into something bitter and angry and Stiles has to shove him away as his trembling fingers curl into fists.

The lights start flickering again.

Stiles pants and says, “I can’t.”

Scott looks sad and disappointed but he nods. “I understand. I can—I can wait.”

Stiles laughs bitterly because Scott sounds so genuine but all Stiles can think about is turning him into a toad. He doesn’t even know if he can manage it but he doesn’t want to take any chances. He’d regret it. He knows he would. He swallows and gathers the courage to say, “I think you should go.”

Scott hesitates but he nods again and walks in the same direction Jackson went.

Stiles sighs shakily and ruffles his hair before he notices his father standing at the other end of the hall with a hard expression. He quickly turns away and scrubs at him damp eyes while trying to thin his anger out long enough to get the ceiling lights to stop flickering.

Chris moves silently to his side and says, “I just got off the phone with your grandfather.”

Stiles rubs at his eye with a frown.

“He’s coming out to bury Kate,” Chris continues. He pauses like he waiting for something and then says, “You know what this means, don’t you, Stiles?”

“Life is over as we know it?” Stiles says weakly and clears his throat.

Chris claps a hand down over Stiles’s shoulder with a firm squeeze. “It means that I expect you to avoid Scott and that redhead like the plague. Any of them, all of them. If your grandfather knew you were being chummy with them—”

“I get it, dad,” Stiles mutters. “I get it.”

“Do you?” Chris questions. “Because there’s a reason your grandfather is flying out from Europe, besides Kate’s funeral. I don’t know what he’s planning but whatever it is, it isn’t anything good for Derek or any of them. I don’t want you being involved or caught in the crossfire.”

“I can take care of myself,” Stiles insists and sulks when his father’s grip tightens. “I can,” he insists.

“Don’t do it for my sake,” Chris says, and that’s all he says. He doesn’t really need to say it.

Stiles stares at Allison’s unmoving form through the glass window. “Does he know about mom?”

“No, and we’re going to keep it that way. For both of you. The history between hunters and witches is as good as the history between hunters and werewolves or witches and werewolves. But I’ll let your mother explain more about that,” Chris decides. “You be sure you listen to everything your mother says and do anything she asks you too. It’s going to keep you safe.”

Stiles squares his shoulders and nods.

Chris leaves it at that.

Jackson returns sometime later with some Mexican takeout and acts really chummy with his dad and his mom as they all sit in the waiting area. He talks sports with his dad and acts really charming with his mom but he generally ignores Stiles like Stiles isn’t even there.

Stiles just watches them all with narrowed eyes and a prominent frown. He wonders if either of his parents know about Jackson. Maybe his mom does and she doesn’t care, or she’s just pretending for Allison’s sake.

Stiles feels like he’s missing something.

When his mom tells Jackson to call her Victoria and even his dad agrees and tells him to call him Chris, Stiles definitely gets that he’s missing something.

It’s so weird. It would drive Stiles crazy if he didn’t know for a fact himself that Jackson was a little fury creature of the night. But yet here he is, playfully fighting over the last churro with his mom and talking cars with his dad like he was just another normal fifteen year old. What was he playing at exactly?

Stiles couldn’t figure it out.

Jackson must have a death wish.

888

Scott blinks. He wasn’t exactly expecting this. “Okay why is everyone in my room?”

Derek looks up from the piles of open magazines and newspapers he has strewn across Scott’s bedroom floor from where he’s wedged between the radiator and the big, purple beanbag chair. Lydia is sitting at Scott’s desk, making full use of his computer while Isaac is lounging on Scott’s bed as he stamps his thumbs angrily over one the remote controls that goes to Scott’s Xbox.

“Pack meeting,” Derek eventually says.

Scott blinks several times before he says, “Then why wasn’t I told?”

“Spontaneous pack meeting,” Lydia airily clarifies as she eyes him. “You smell like Stiles.”

Scott flushes. “Uh…”

Lydia rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the computer. “Allison?”

Scott fidgets. “I couldn’t tell. It smelled too sterile in the hospital. I would have needed to go in the room.”

“Why didn’t you?” Derek asks and even Isaac looks curious about that. “Let me guess, you got distracted by Stiles and loss all sense of the mission.”

Scott glares at Derek. “Stiles was right there. I wasn’t just going to break into his sister’s room with him standing right there. Jackson was there too. Maybe you should ask him.”

Lydia tenses and the air shifts suddenly. “What did you just say?”

Scott fidgets because he feels like he may have just said the wrong thing. “Jackson was there at the hospital. I don’t know why though.”

Lydia doesn’t speak or move for three whole beats. She mutters something that sounds like it’s curse words but also in French. It’s a little terrifying.

“You should have never bit him,” Derek murmurs as he tears out a page from a magazine. “I told you he wouldn’t be anything but trouble. He’s up to something.”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t exactly in my right mind at the time. I think the whole transference of power didn’t make me the best decision maker last night,” Lydia says in a clipped tone as she flips her hair over her shoulder and grabs the stack of papers she sent to Scott’s printer. “Doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done. We need the numbers anyway.”

“Numbers won’t mean anything if Jackson isn’t exactly pledging loyal,” Derek points out and tears out a small section from a magazine. “Don’t forget I was there, Lydia. He asked for the bite and you gave it to him without hesitation. He never asked to be pack.”

“Derek’s got a point, as odd as it is to say,” Isaac offers as he continues to play whatever game he’s playing. It sounds a lot like Call of Duty.

“Thanks,” Derek says sarcastically. He turns his attention back to the pile in front of him. “He already smelled like pack. Like a different pack.”

“Wait, what?” Scott says. “I have no idea what’s going on so someone please explain to me one at time.” He points at Derek.

“I’m looking for apartments,” Derek says. He then shoots a sarcastic smile in Lydia’s direction. “Our newly made Alpha suggested that I fester in some hovel that wasn’t the remains of my family home.”

Scott points to Lydia.

“Oh is it my turn to talk?” Lydia says in a snarky tone. “I’m preparing for the worst. There’s a coven of Trapper Witches on their way to Beacon Hills as we speak, and Danny and Boyd had to go and be difficult by running off in an inane attempt to locate a different pack because I guess mine isn’t too promising. Also, Derek, for your information, no one should have to make you be an adult or do adult things. Specifically not this newly made Alpha.”

Derek growls.

Lydia ignores him and goes back to researching.

Scott points to Isaac.

“Obvious,” Isaac says without even looking at him.

“I know but why does it look like you’re holding a new remote?” Scott asks.

“Because it is new,” Lydia says with a put-upon sigh. “He broke your last controller and begged me to buy a new one.”

Isaac gives an apologetic shrug.

Scott shakes his head and says, “Never mind that—what’s with this Trapper Witches thing? There are no witches in Beacon Hill. Why would they come here?”

“Firstly, yes there are. Several, in fact,” Lydia says. “And secondly, if I knew what they wanted I wouldn’t be scrambling to put up some kind of line of defense. You should know that what this coven actually is are _witches_ who happen to also be _hunters_. So think Chris Argent but with magic sans gun.”

Scott lets it sink in. “That’s really not good.”

“Glad to see you’re finally on board with what I’ve been saying,” Lydia remarks sweetly. “If Peter was crazy enough to bite the whole damn town just to fend them off then you have to know that this Big Bad is _big_ and _bad_.”

Scott’s trying not to panic. “So what are we going to do?”

“I’m figuring that out. As history shows, werewolves and witches have never gotten along,” Lydia says. “It might have something to do with where werewolves originally originated from.” She pauses. “Peter wanted Stiles. It was more than an obsession. He knew something we didn’t. I get that he was going to bargain him to the Trapper Witches but I don’t know why or what for. Derek has been no help as usual.”

Derek growls again.

“You think maybe it has something to do with why Erica smells so weird?” Scott asks and everyone pauses.

“What.” Lydia rises to her feet and stalks over to him as her eyes flash red. “What do you mean she smells weird?”

Scott looks over to Isaac pleadingly. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Slipped my mind,” Isaac says with an apologetic expression.

“Scott,” Lydia says in that gravelly tone that makes Scott’s wolf whine in submission. “What, do you mean, Erica, smells weird?”

“She smells different. Not like pack. Not like Isaac does now,” Scott explains quickly. “She smells like something different. Like Stiles’s mom. And—Stiles is starting to smell like them too.”

Lydia stares him down until he’s forced to look away. She hums thoughtfully and presses her hand to his throat so she can stamp her scent there. She says, “Erica’s a witch.”

Everyone looks at her sharply.

Lydia continues, “I knew that when I bit her. She knew that when I bit her. We have a, I guess you could say, agreement about that. I wanted to see what would happen. We’re both curious so you don’t have to tiptoe around her.”

“That’s either incredibly smart or incredibly dangerous,” Derek supposes with a faraway look.

Lydia shrugs one shoulder as she pulls her hand away from Scott’s throat with a satisfied sound. Her fingers lengthen into claws and she eyes them thoughtfully in the way that girls do when they’re imagining a color they’d like to try on their nails. “You’ll all learn quickly that I like to have all my bases covered. We’ll see what happens. But for now—I think I have an idea of why Peter wanted to negotiate Stiles.”

Everyone looks to her expectantly.

“Stiles has magic,” Lydia says, speaking to them as if they were children. “Untapped magic. The strongest kind of magic a witch can ever have until they get it circumcised.”

Derek, Isaac, and Scott all cringe in horror.

Lydia sighs long-sufferingly. "You're all morons. I didn't mean like how you're thinking. It's a ritual that has to be performed on a witch's sixteenth birthday. You know what? No. I'm the Alpha. I don't have time for this." She picks up her phone and dials out. A second later she says, "Erica, get over here. You need to give them  _the talk_."

Derek, Isaac, and Scott share a look of confusion.


	2. Neon Lights

_Be careful the environment you choose for it will shape you; be careful the friends you choose for you will become like them.  
– **W. Clement Stone**_

888

Stiles doesn’t know how Jackson does it but he actually talks his parents into leaving the hospital. He makes claims that they should rest and that he’ll take over watching Allison for the night.

“And besides,” Jackson adds because of course he isn’t done making Stiles’s life a living hell. “Parent-Teacher conference is tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to miss that.”

Chris and Victoria look at Stiles.

“I was going to mention it!” Stiles swears, lifting his hands up in surrender when their faces harden into glares. He had forgotten.

Jackson just leans against Allison’s window with an amused smirk like the asshole he is.

“No matter,” Victoria supposes. “We know now. I suspect we’ll hear nothing but good reports and glowing commendations.”

Stiles makes a face and he isn’t sure what kind but Chris sighs and rubs his temples. “It’s—only been a month so far?” he offers.

Victoria shoots him a look.

Chris just sighs again.

Jackson is just eating it up, smirking like he’s the Greek goddess of chaos, strife and discord reincarnated.

It’s not even really Stiles’s fault. If his teachers mention his lack of participation and attention then Stiles is prepared to counter argue. The whole thing with Scott breaking up with him and Lydia being all wolfy and elusive and Allison running off to elope, and not to mention the Alpha, well, it was all very distracting at the time.

Of course Stiles says none of this. What he says is, “I think I’ll stay here too, you know, let you have the house to yourselves to rekindle the flame of—love?”

Chris snorts wryly but Victoria isn’t very amused.

“I’m staying,” Stiles insists, especially if they’re letting _Jackson_ of all people stay. He doesn’t trust that guy. “It’s spring break. I’m allowed to stay. There’s no where else I’d rather be in fact.”

“We’ll decide where you’ll be after that conference tomorrow,” Victoria remarks as she levels him with a look.

Chris rests a large hand on the small of her back and joins in on the look as he says, “You behave. And you don’t leave this hospital until we come and get you.”

Stiles salutes them and somberly says, “Got it. I’ll call you if she— _when_ she does something not, uh, comatose.”

Victoria says, “You call us if something happens.” She switches to French with a pointed look and adds, “ _You call me if something happens with **you**. Keep that temper in check. We cannot risk you being found out._ ”

Jackson watches them curiously and Stiles immediately understands why his mother unexpectedly addresses him in French.

“ _I know. Mom,_ ” Stiles replies, playing along. “ _Are we going to talk about this though? You said—”_

 _“I’m aware,”_ Victoria interrupts smoothly. “ _And we will. I need to make a few phone calls. Reestablish my network of contacts. You’re going to need more than just me. Being a witch isn’t just about the magic. It’s about staying connected and being prepared._ ”

Chris adds, “ _We’ll talk more about this later. And again after your sister wakes. Hopefully soon._ ”

“Hopefully soon,” Stiles agrees in English. He gives them a slight wave before they nod at him and say their goodbyes to Jackson before making an exit.

Jackson waits a beat before he says, “I didn’t know you spoke French.”

“I can speak a lot of things,” Stiles counters. “You travel as much as me and my family does and you learn a few things.”

“Makes sense,” Jackson supposes. “Argent is the French word for silver.”

Stiles lifts an eyebrow, impressed. “Can you speak it?”

“No,” Jackson merely says. “I know some things but not enough. Most my expertise lies with sign language.”

“Sign language?” Stiles repeats with skeptic surprise.

Jackson snorts and begins signing with his words as he says, “Lydia’s older sister and father is deaf and so when we started dating she made me learn so that I could hold conversation. She said I’d be an ignorant loser if I didn’t and she doesn’t date losers.” He drops his hands when he’s done.

Stiles frowns. “I didn’t—Lydia never said.”

“She wouldn’t,” Jackson clarifies. “Her parents divorced a week before she started high school. She stayed with her mom while her sister and dad took off to go live in Ireland. They’re not on speaking terms, any of them. It’s not a story she’s fond of sharing.”

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles sadly. “I don’t imagine she would be.”

Jackson turns to watch Allison through the window with a solemn expression that looks odd on him.

“What did you do to my parents?” Stiles asks abruptly as he steps in the space beside him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jackson drawls in a bored tone.

“It _means_ ,” Stiles grumbles. “I know you’re up to something. They never just _like_ someone. They’re too paranoid for that. But they’ve taken to you like a duck to water. What the _hell?_ ”

Jackson shoots him an annoyed look. “Argent, this may have completely escaped your notice but I’m actually a very likeable person.”

“No, you’re a dildo,” Stiles corrects. “I remember very distinctly that you said something about only bothering with nice when you want someone to play with your dick and, _ew_ , I so hope this isn’t what this is. God, do you want to _bang_ my parents or something?”

“No. What I want is to bang your face against this window, dumbass,” Jackson grits out.

“Hey, man, whatever turns you on,” Stiles teases and smirks vengefully when he growls.

“I don’t have time for this. Go choke on McCall’s dick,” Jackson spits. “I’m going to get some air,” he continues shakily. “ _Don’t_ follow me,” he warns and beats a hasty retreat.

Stiles rolls his eyes and says, “Gladly,” before he crosses his arms and turns his gaze back to his unconscious sister. He’s not sure how long he stands there, chewing on his fingernails and scanning her vital signs on the machines. His mind goes idle with the happiest memories he has of him and Allison. He’s read somewhere that projecting good thoughts can lure a person out of a coma.

So his eyes glaze over as he thinks about the day they spent on a beach in Spain when he was seven and she was eight, making sandcastles with metal buckets and plastic shovels. Allison had had on a one-piece cherry pink bathing suit with white polka dots while Stiles wore orange and blue swimming trunks. He thinks about the way they built a tower of sand before he talked even Chris and Victoria into joining in. He remembers how hot the sun had been and how warm the sand was. He can remember the way Chris held his hand as they trudged along the beach looking for seashells to decorate the sandcastle with. He can remember Allison’s beautiful dimpled laugh when she wiped a streak of sand onto Victoria’s cheek, or the way that they all chased each other around before Chris tossed them both into the ocean as Victoria looked on with a soft look of fondness. It’s one of the best memories he has of them as a family because its one of the only times they were happy, like really and truly happy. And for a moment its like a current pulsates through his body, biting at his fingertips with static and settling at the back of his tongue like the taste of copper.

And this is where it really gets strange.

Stiles blinks and snaps out of it just in time to notice the lights of the hospital have intensified in its brightness. Not to mention that when he looks down he notices there are fistfuls of white sand and tiny seashells in both his hands. He gasps and shakes it free as he tries not to panic. Its not until he exhales and shakes himself do the lights dim down to its natural glow but the white sand and seashells stay sprinkled on the ground around him. It’s pretty intense. He swallows and goes in search of the waiting area with shaky hands.

When he gets to it he notices that Jackson is already there, spread out on a three-seat couch with his mouth ajar and his hand tucked under his shirt over his stomach while his other arm covers half of his face.

Stiles gets this mean thought of shoving marshmallows down his throat before he quickly dismisses it in fear that something like that might actually manifest. He sighs and plops down on the end of the couch and scoots away from Jackson’s stupidly large feet. He gropes himself for his phone and turns it on when he finds it before pausing to look at the wallpaper. It’s a picture of him taking a goofy selfie with Lydia in the background sleeping like Sleeping Beauty. Lydia’s got the same kind of picture on her phone; only she’s taking the goofy selfie with him sleeping in the background like Sleeping Beauty. It’s one of their things.

Stiles feels his lips spread into a pained smile, and his heart tics sorely with the realization that he misses her. As angry as he is he still loves her because this is his best friend in the whole wide world and he misses her. He sighs and shakes his head so he can concentrate on his original task. He opens his internet browser so he can do some research.

He types ‘witch lore’ and dives in as his foot taps a restless beat into the linoleum floor. He takes note of the things he finds interesting or thinks may be true and dismisses the more ridiculous theories or cult myths. He keeps this up all night between checking up on Allison or between bathroom breaks or vending machine breaks to purchase energy drinks. He’s so engulfed in this routine that he definitely doesn’t notice when Jackson sits up with a yawn and a stretch before disappearing.

Stiles is huddled in a corner on the floor next to a power outlet so he can charge his phone while reading about the legend of [**Mama Oba**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/547809/chapters/975536).

It’s Jackson who makes him pay attention to the outside world when he returns with two cups of coffees bought from the hospital cafeteria. He clears his throat and shoves a coffee at his face, saying, “You didn’t sleep at all did you?”

Stiles hums distractedly before accepting the coffee with a quick thanks and takes a long sip. He doesn’t mind that it’s bitter or that Jackson’s face twists in disgust as he watches him with judging blue eyes. After his third sip he says, “I think you got enough rest for the both of us.”

Jackson huffs and sips at his own coffee. “You know what they say about beauty rest,” he mutters.

Stiles leans back and swears when his head thuds painfully on the wall behind him. He rubs at the sore spot and looks up. “As if you need beauty sleep. I think at this point you’re just being greedy.”

Jackson smirks slowly. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

“No,” Stiles grumbles. “You should take it as me calling you vain.” He takes another long sip of his coffee. “You know in Greek myth, Narcissus saw himself in a river and fell in love with his own reflection before drowning during an attempt to make out with himself. You should be worried that something like that could happen to you.”

Jackson snorts into his next sip. “That’s not how the story goes.”

Stiles shrugs and conceals his surprise that Jackson is apparently smarter than he appears very carefully. “I improvised. Doesn’t make it any less true though.”

Jackson dismisses him before he plops down on the couch to watch the flat screen TV mounted on the wall in the far corner.

Stiles unplugs his phone, pockets it along with his charger and joins him. He watches Jackson out of the corner of his eye as he drinks his coffee down and wonders over how perfectly normal Jackson seems doing something so plain as watching a muted TV with such indifferent curiosity.

Jackson drags his tongue over the rim of his cup and glances over at him with a raised brow.

Stiles fidgets and says, “What?”

“You’re not subtle.” Jackson flicks his gaze down. “I didn’t poison your coffee.”

Stiles blanches. “Well I hadn’t thought that but now I’m starting to think that maybe I should’ve,” he says while sniffing at his cup.

Jackson shrugs and continues to stare at him intently. “Why are you watching me then?”

“I wasn’t—” Stiles stops his almost lie because he remembers that Jackson can use his wolfy powers to detect it. “Okay I was. Only because you look so normal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, dude. It’s just—you’re _you._ You’re kind of a douchebag,” Stiles points out. “Everything you do practically oozes with evil.”

Jackson looks unimpressed. “Maybe you just don’t know me like you think you do.”

“You’ve bullied Scott on more than one occasion, treated me like I was a worm, and broke Lydia’s heart. This is just in the first week I’ve known you before you up and bolted after that rumor about you being adopted,” Stiles says and doesn’t miss the way Jackson’s face hardens at the mere mention of his adoption. “Where did you go anyway?”

“You don’t know anything, Argent,” Jackson says lowly. “You think I’m one dimensional? You think I’m some dumb high school cliché? An asshole jock that doesn’t care about anyone but himself?”

“Well, yes,” Stiles says truthfully. “But that’s your fault, Jackson. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. That one-dimensional side of you? Yeah buddy, that’s all you ever show. What am I supposed to think?”

“Nothing,” Jackson hisses and his eyes flash an electric blue for a quick second. His shoulders are shaking. “You’re like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe that I can’t scrape off. You don’t know anything so don’t—” He stops abruptly and springs to his feet.

“Whoa, dude!” Stiles gasps as he notices that Jackson’s fingers are lengthening into claws. “Calm down! We’re still—there are _cameras_.”

Jackson’s body tremors and he balls his hands into fists as his eyes glow. “I don’t—I can’t—” He snarls in frustration. His teeth are beginning to fang.

Stiles springs to his feet and says, “Calm down. Just—Jackson listen to my voice and focus on that.”

“I, can’t,” Jackson grits out. “You’re voice is making it _worse._ I want to claw your face off!”

Stiles bites back an insult and glares into his glowing blue eyes. “Well think of something because—”

“Someone’s coming,” Jackson grunts but he sounds a bit panicked. “I can’t—can’t _breathe_. My heart—”

Stiles flounders for a bit before he throws himself bodily onto Jackson. “Don’t kill me for this!” is his only warning before he smashes their lips together.

Jackson chokes on a surprised sound with wide eyes, going completely rigid for a full minute before he screws his eyes shut and fists his hands into the sides of Stiles’s shirt. He’s still shaking but he’s giving the kiss his all, concentrating on it like it’s some kind of lifeline.

Stiles wraps his arms around him and presses his hands into Jackson’s shoulder blades, sliding them up the knobs of Jackson’s spine to create a sensation that Jackson can focus on. He still listens for footsteps but his attention gets screwed when Jackson boldly deepens the kiss and sucks on Stiles’s tongue like he’s trying to get even. He’s a spiteful kisser.

“You slut.”

Stiles shoves away from Jackson to see Erica smirking at them with apple red lipstick, a bright green bodice, tight jeans and a leather jacket. She looks like a vixen.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles pants and dusts himself off, ignoring the offended look Jackson tosses him. He seems to have calmed down though.

Erica’s smirk grows a little wicked. “Well since you refuse to answer any of our texts, Lydia sent me to inform you that she’s taking me and Isaac on a field trip to track down Boyd and Danny. I think it’s partially a training exercise too. She wants to help us really hone our skills.”

Stiles furrows his brow, intrigued, but he scoffs like he isn’t. “I don’t care.”

Erica huffs. “ _Right._ Still playing hard to get, Stilinski?”

Stiles’s cheeks reddens. “I’m _not_ playing ha—” He stops and exhales. “I just don’t care. Why would I care?”

Erica lifts a brow and looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Because you’re pack.” She spares Jackson a brief glance. “Hey, traitor. How’s it hanging?”

“Blow me, Blondie,” Jackson retorts.

“No can do, Adonis. I’ve got somebody else in mind,” Erica replies cheerily. “You take good care of Mama Wolf’s favorite or she’ll rip you down the middle. Though she might anyway after I tell her you two have been sucking face.”

Stiles grimaces but he doesn’t say anything. He’s still angry at Lydia and he kind of wants her to know. It’s stupid and childish but whatever. His sister’s laying in a hospital bed and maybe a little vindication is needed.

“Are we done here or do you plan on running your mouth until our ears bleed from the trauma?” Jackson snidely questions but he still edges away from Stiles like he’s diseased or like Lydia will pop out at any moment.

Erica grins and strides forward, forcing Stiles into a hug as she slides her nose up and down the side of his neck. She tangles their fingers together and her palms grow warm again his. She presses her lips against his ear in a sensual way that’s _so_ unnecessary and says, “You feel that, Stilinski?”

Stiles’s breath hitches as he’s hit with a full body flush of euphoria that settles in his stomach like liquid heat and throbs through his veins like a pulse.

“Feels incredible, doesn’t it?” Erica whispers. In archaic Latin she says, “ _I’m sharing my magic with you. If you knew how to do the same, well…_ ” She chuckles huskily. “ _Think of the best orgasm you’ve ever had and intensify the sensation._ ”

Stiles swallows dryly as his body trembles and greedily sucks in the energy Erica seems to be feeding to him. “ _Why are you doing this?_ ” he asks shakily, speaking with the same dialect.

“ _I need you to know that I’m like what you are. I need you to understand how good it can be. I also want to be able to feel you and have a sense of your wellbeing,”_ Erica explains quietly. “ _We’re family now, and not just by pack, but by magic._ ” She brings one of his hands up to rest against her breast where her heart is beating and presses his other hand to touch to his own heart.

Stiles inhales in surprise at the fact that their hearts are beating in sync with a rapid pace.

“ _See? That’s a deeper connection no human or wolf will ever understand._ ” Erica pulls away as her eyes flash silver like Lydia’s used to.

Stiles wonders what it means.

Erica gives the side of his face a long, dirty lick and rumbles with satisfaction as she begins to withdraw her energy from him. When she’s done doing whatever weird scenting/magic thing she’s doing she shoves Stiles away and leaves, tossing a “Later losers!” over her shoulder at them before she swaggers out of sight.

Stiles sighs as his body cools down and his heart resumes its normal pace. He rubs at the bridge of his nose as an awkward silence falls over the waiting area.

Jackson grumbles, “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says honestly. He pulls his phone from his pocket and begins scrolling through his contacts.

Jackson huffs and doesn’t say anything for a long minute. Then he says, “That thing you—that you did before.”

“Uh-huh?” Stiles’s thumb hovers over Lydia’s name.

“How did you—why did you do that?” Jackson asks, looking as uncomfortable as he sounds.

Stiles lifts an eyebrow at him and replies, “I read somewhere that the best way to stifle a panic attack is to stop breathing, which you did when I kissed you.”

A slow flush crawls up the back of Jackson’s neck. “Oh,” he says weakly.

Stiles grins, thoroughly enjoying how uncomfortable Jackson is. “Pretty much.”

Jackson clears his throat and says, “Thanks, I guess.”

“Yup.”

“Don’t ever do it again.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Stiles ducks out of the waiting area and presses Lydia’s name as he heads to the cafeteria because he’s hungry.

Lydia doesn’t even let the dial tone drag on after the first ring. “ _Hello? Stiles? Hello? What happened? What’s wrong?_ ”

“Nothing,” Stiles quickly assures as he wanders through the breakfast bar the cafeteria has set up. He’s pretty sure it’s gonna take a stack of blueberry waffles drowning in syrup to get the taste of Jackson out of his mouth. “Nothing’s wrong. Well—at least for the moment.”

Lydia goes curiously quiet on the other end.

Stiles sits down at an empty table with his tray and a sigh. He shifts his phone to his other ear and cradles it between his shoulder and his face. As he cuts into his waffles, he says, “I’m still mad at you.”

Lydia says nothing.

“I have every right to be angry at you and all your little wolfy friends,” he continues. “But…”

Lydia waits and when he doesn’t continue she says, “ _But?_ ”

“But you’re my best friend. And we did make a promise about being in this together,” Stiles supposes as he shoves a forkful of waffles in his mouth.

Lydia sucks in a breath and it sounds a bit like she’s going teary-eyed.

It’s like pinpricks to Stiles’s heart. “Alpha’s don’t cry,” he gently reminds.

Lydia laughs wetly. “ _Oh yeah? What would you know about it?_ ”

“Give me time,” Stiles promises. “I’ll figure it out.”

Lydia huffs again. “ _I’m sure you will. You’re almost as smart as me._ ”

Stiles hums and swallows. He says, “I’m still not confirming that I’m pack.”

Lydia says nothing to that. He didn’t think she would anyway. It’s probably something she doesn’t want to hear but he needs her to know.

“Allison, she—” Stiles chooses his next words carefully. “I don’t want to decide anything until she wakes up.”

Lydia sighs very quietly but she says, “ _I understand_.”

“Good,” Stiles replies. “Because you should know that I plan on following her to the ends of the Earth. If she wants to be pack, then I’ll be pack too. We’re a package deal.”

Lydia’s silence feels meaningful somehow. She must be considering his words and weighing her options. She says, “ _Okay,”_ like she really means it, but Stiles is still suspicious that she’s forming some kind of strategy. “ _How has she been so far?_ ”

“Unconscious,” Stiles says but not unkindly. “Doctors seem to think that she’s healing faster than suspected.”

Lydia makes a thoughtful sound. “ _That’s—good_ ,” she says carefully.

Stiles snorts. “Lydia, you don’t have to tiptoe around me. I know what everybody thinks. She might turn or something. I mean, it’s a given. We won’t really know until we know.”

“ _Right,”_ Lydia agrees. “ _You just be sure to let me know when you know so that I can know._ ”

“Uh, sure.” Stiles is a bit confused but he just finishes off the rest of his waffles. Then he says, “Erica says you’re going on some kind of hunting trip? You’re looking for Boyd and Danny. Actually, can I just say what the hell? Peter bit Boyd?”

 _“Yes, we’re **tracking** Boyd and Danny. I think they know more about what Peter was up to than what I already know,_” Lydia explains.

“Right, which was using me as a peace offering to the Trapper Witches,” Stiles says, shoving his tray away. “You think he was in some kind of debt with them? I mean, I don’t know. That’s what a negotiation entails. Both sides giving something, only I think they gave him something that he had yet to repay.”

“ _Plausible. I had considered that,_ ” Lydia admits. “ _But like I said, we need Boyd and Danny to really be sure. After I slashed Peter’s throat open they kind of went sprinting off with their tails between their legs. Hopefully we can catch them before they align themselves with a new pack._ ”

“Why? What happens then?”

“ _Nothing good,”_ Lydia merely replies. “ _Don’t worry. I’ll handle it._ ”

Stiles fidgets in his seat but he let’s it go. He supposes he should start learning to trust her judgment again. “So I’m guessing you know about my, uh, _Sabrina_ problem?”

“ _Sabrina?_ ” Lydia echoes sounding wholeheartedly amused.

“You know what I mean,” Stiles grumbles.

Lydia hums and says, “ _Yes. I know._ ” Then she says, “ _Listen, I have to go. Erica just got back and we’re going to go pick up Isaac so we can get a move on. You be safe. If you need anything, call me. Or Scott. Or Derek. Or, god forbid, Jackson._ ”

Stiles makes a face at that. “I can take care of myself.”

“ _I know that. You’re just as smart as I am, like I said. But we also both know that you’re the current queen on the chessboard of an ongoing game. I can’t afford to let you be vulnerable,_ ” Lydia says.

“Does this make you my king?” Stiles quips.

Lydia snorts wryly. “ _Please. We all know Scott’s your king._ ”

Stiles flushes, hunches down in his seat, and grumbles, “Don’t assume things.”

Lydia just hums airily. “ _Goodbye, Stiles._ ”

“Yeah, yeah. You just—” Stiles pauses to swallow. “You just be careful too,” he says lowly. “All of you. Including Erica and Isaac.”

“ _How sweet. I’ll text my progress, how’s that?_ ”

“Fair,” Stiles replies. “And you call _me_ if you need anything. I’m, you know, useful.”

“ _I know,”_ Lydia agrees softly. “ _I’ll text you_.”

Stiles ends the call and pockets his phone before he untwists the top off his water bottle and drinks it down. He frowns when his pocket vibrates and he pulls out his phone.

_I should probably mention this now before I forget. –Lydia_

_Peter wasn’t the one who bit Boyd. –Lydia_

Stiles quickly replies with a _what???_

It gets no reply and he’s left to wonder.

888

Deaton is doing his daily inspection of the animal kennels when he senses a disturbance a half a second before his animals do. The dogs bark and the cats hiss and meow as they pace their cages. Then suddenly it all goes quiet and they fall to their sides simultaneously in a deep sleep. He sighs and heads to the front of the clinic and is not surprised at all to see Victoria Argent standing on the other side of the front desk.

“Alan,” Victoria greets.

“Mrs. Argent,” Deaton replies pointedly. “Was it necessary to put all my animals under a sleeping spell?”

Victoria just smiles sharply and glances down at the counter. She looks back up and lifts a finely arched brow. “Mountain ash?”

“I’ve learned a few things,” Deaton merely replies. “What brings you to my door?”

“Invite me in,” Victoria says instead.

“I was beginning to wonder when you would seek me out,” Deaton responds. “What do you want?”

“Invite me in,” Victoria insists tightly as the windows begin to shudder and the lights begin to flicker.

Deaton takes a step forward, unhurried and completely unconcerned by the threat underlining her tone. “Why should I?” he challenges.

Victoria’s eyes flash with silver before returning to normal. “I mean you no harm,” she promises.

“Swear,” Deaton calmly requests.

“I swear to you—”

“No, not to me,” Deaton quickly corrects. “You’ve lost that privilege the day Claudia died.”

Victoria’s face hardens and the windows shudder harder before the lights flicker wildly before everything stills. She says, “I swear to the goddess Trivia, whom I give all my services.”

Deaton levels her with a stare before he says, “You can pass.”

Victoria pushes the swinging door open and steps over the threshold lined with mountain ash. She follows Deaton to the back and stands on the other side of the operating table.

“How can I help you?” Deaton asks as he crosses his arms.

“You don’t want to help me,” Victoria states knowingly. “But my son—”

“ _Your_ son?” Deaton interjects as he levels her with a glare. “Claudia’s son. Not yours. You’d do well to remember—”

“Don’t,” Victoria warns as the irises of her eyes bleed into silver.

“Why should I?” Deaton counters and grips the edge of the operating table as he leans forward. “I’m in no mood to be gracious.”

“Stiles is turning sixteen next Saturday,” Victoria plows on and closes her eyes. “The night of the full moon.” When she opens her eyes, they’re normal again. “Which means he’ll be twice as powerful and twice as vulnerable. I _need_ your help to perform the circumcision ritual.”

“I don’t see how that will be possible. He doesn’t know me. His magic will reject my presence. You’re aware I’ll die if that happens,” Deaton reminds.

“I am aware,” Victoria concedes. “Which is why I couldn’t help but to notice your ‘Help Wanted’ sign.”

Deaton gazes at her steadily and says, “I already hired someone.”

“Fire them or hire my son as well,” Victoria insists. “Two heads are better than one, dear.”

Deaton’s lips curl into a cynical grin. “Very well, Mrs. Argent. Have it your way. I’ll bond with him as much as I can with the allotted time we have.”

Victoria straightens with a cold smirk. “Thank you, Alan. I’ll send him your way tomorrow morning.” She glances at her watch. “I have to run. Wouldn’t want to miss my children’s Parent-Teacher conferences.”

Deaton watches as she makes an exit before he sighs. He pulls his phone from his pocket and dials out.

“ _Hello._ ”

“Marin,” Deaton greets somberly. “It’s time.”

“ _On my way. I was getting tired of Vegas anyway._ ”

888

Stiles chews on his fingernails as he watches through the glass of the window as the nurses and the doctors putter around Allison, changing her bandages and giving her a once over. Jackson was on a food run because Stiles made a small complaint about the cafeteria food upsetting his stomach, which was weirdly nice of Jackson to even do, though he’d probably never to admit to.

“That’s incredibly bad for your cuticles, Genim.”

Stiles jumps and turns. He blinks and recovers quickly.

Gerard is grinning thinly at him.

Stiles stares and thinks very quickly about how he wants to play this. He mentally votes ‘adoring grandson’ before he smiles, “You lost old man?” He steps forward and hugs him.

Gerard receives him warmly. “I may be old, Genim, but I’m not that old,” he counters with a chuckle as he pats Stiles on the back.

Stiles pulls away and shrugs. “When did you get in?”

“Not too long ago. I stopped by the house but no one was there,” Gerard says as he glances into Allison’s hospital room.

“Parent-Teacher conferences,” Stiles explains before he crosses his arms. “Are you—how are you?”

Gerard hums as he gropes himself before pulling a small silver container from his pockets. He pops a few pills before he says, “I’m adapting to the situation. The loss of Kate is grating at me. I feel like I’ve been spread too thin. And Allison. It concerns me.”

Stiles feels the corners of his mouth dip. He can tell his grandfather is lying. So he says, “Dad says you’re planning Aunt Kate’s funeral. When did—”

“All in due time,” Gerard interjects as he claps a hand over Stiles’s shoulder and squeezes loosely. “I’d rather we wait and see how your sister recovers before we make any sudden plans. We wouldn’t want her to miss it. She should be able to grieve with the rest of us.”

Stiles nods slowly. “Yeah,” he says dumbly. He quickly changes the subject when he notices how intently Gerard is watching Allison’s prone form. “You bring me a book?”

Gerard’s brow furrows but he turns back to Stiles with a fond smile and squeezes his shoulder again. “I believe I may have something of interest on my person,” he drawls. “But answer me this—how much do you know about what happened to your Aunt Kate and your sister?”

“Uh, mom and dad broke it to me gently and gave me the werewolf and hunter talk, if that’s what you mean,” Stiles lies.

Gerard looks pleased. “Good. It’s long overdue. I might have if they hadn’t already,” he says before he lets go of Stiles’s shoulder and reaches into the inside pocket of his coat. He pulls free a set of keys and from this set he takes off a sleek, black jump drive.

Stiles gapes. He knows what it is. “The _bestiary?_ You’re giving me the bestiary? Grandpa, that’s—”

“Long overdue,” Gerard interjects and he grabs Stiles’s wrist and puts it in his hand. “Your pension and thirst for knowledge of the mythical has always pleased me. Think of this as an early birthday gift.” He adds a wink.

Stiles nods dumbly and curls his fingers around it.

Gerard smiles thinly before he glances at something off to the side.

Stiles frowns before he turns to see Jackson approaching them with some takeout bags. “Uh,” he scrambles to say. “Grandpa, this is Jackson. Jackson, this is my grandpa.”

Gerard offers his hand and eyes Jackson steadily. “Gerard Argent.”

Jackson accepts the hand and says, “Jackson Whittemore.”

“That’s a steady grip you got there, son,” Gerard comments. “I like that in a young man. Shows character.”

“My dad’s a lawyer,” Jackson replies with a smirk, playing at charming. “He says a man’s grip says a lot about who he is.”

“Your father is a wise man,” Gerard concedes with a thin grin. He lets go of Jackson’s hand but he continues to assess him.

Stiles chews his fingernails anxiously as he shifts his gaze between them. He clears his throat and says, “Well! Jackson was just bringing me food like the good friend he is. So, thank you, Jackson. You can _leave_ now.” He takes one of the bags from him with a pointed look.

Jackson frowns at him and sends him a questioning look back.

 _I’m trying to save your life, you idiot,_ he thinks _very_ intently at him as he widens his eyes with an even more significant look.

Jackson just lifts a brow at him like he’s an idiot.

“Oh I see,” Gerard says, breaking the silence.

Jackson and Stiles turn their gazes to him.

“No need to be shy, Genim,” Gerard promises in a placating tone.

“Genim?” Jackson echoes in amusement.

“Shut up.”

“Allison mentioned you had a boyfriend during our last talk,” Gerard announces. “It’s obvious to me who he is.”

“ _Him?”_

“ _Me?_ ”

Gerard gives them both an amused look. “I may be old-fashioned but I’m not ignorant. You two can relax around me. I’m not going to run you out of town. I can admit that in college, I, myself, experimen—”

“Oh my god, Grandpa, please don’t,” Stiles quickly interjects in a horrified tone. “We’re not even—”

“No, Stiles, he’s right,” Jackson speaks up, suddenly sounding somber. He pulls Stiles closer by wrapping an arm around his waist. “He’s been worried about how you’d take it. This is a relief for both of us. Thank you, Mr. Argent.”

“Please, call me Gerard.” Gerard winks at Stiles before he lifts his vibrating phone. “Excuse me,” he utters when he reads the name on the screen. He presses the phone to his ear and says, “Have you find it? Good.” He walks off and continues his conversation.

Stiles waits until his grandfather is out of sight before he shoves at Jackson, which is about as effective as shoving a wall. “Dude! What the hell? Why did you let my grandfather think we were dating?”

Jackson just looks off into the direction where Gerard disappeared and replies, “Why is your grandfather talking about Kanimas?”

“Are you kidding? That’s beside the poi—” Stiles stops. “Okay when you say Kanima, do you mean like—what do you mean? What’s a Kanima?”

“Does it look like I know? I heard your grandfather before he came into the hospital and he was talking over the phone about your Aunt Kate and how her body was missing from the morgue. Then he told whoever he was talking to just now to go and check Matt’s burial site since his parents put him to rest yesterday afternoon.” Jackson frowns and strains like he’s listening. “He’s too far now. I can’t hear the conversation anymore.”

“Okay, hold up,” Stiles says. “Kate’s body is missing from the morgue? Did he talk about it like he was mad or did he sound self-satisfied like things were going according to plan?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson replies with an annoyed frown. He turns back and faces Stiles. “Your grandfather is—he’s hard to read. By now I can pick up on things, but him—he smells off.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Stiles drawls. “Did you at least hear about Matt?”

“Missing too. Body’s gone,” Jackson mutters and grows thoughtfully quiet. “Look, I know you don’t like me, and frankly my life would be a hell of a lot better if you weren’t around.”

“Oh, charming,” Stiles huffs sarcastically.

“But I need an excuse to stay close by,” Jackson continues, ignoring the jab. “The thing about us dating was just convenient.”

“Convenient for who?” Stiles counters with a raised brow.

“For all of us,” Jackson counters impatiently. “I heard what your dad said to you the other day—”

“God, eavesdrop much?”

“—and now that your grandfather’s in town, you can’t be seen with Lydia or Scott or any of them. I’m your best bet for now. I can act as an informant,” Jackson offers. “Your parents actually like me and they have no idea what I actually am. You guys need me.”

Stiles purses his lips before he lets out a frustrated sound. “God, _fine._ But this is just a temporary thing until we can figure out what Gerard is up to.” He pulls out his phone and shoots a quick text to his parents about the arrival of his grandfather. “We should probably tell the others. Ugh, I have to break the news to my parents.”

“Fine, whatever,” Jackson says.

Stiles glares at him. “I’ll talk to Derek and Lydia. _You_ talk to Scott.”

Jackson looks very uncomfortable.

Stiles smirks. “Have fun,” he says before he walks away and shoots a few texts to Lydia. Then he dials Derek’s number.

“ _What._ ”

“Hey, grumpy. Long time, no threats,” Stiles replies.

Derek sounds like he’s cracking his knuckles. “ _What do you want? Are you hurt?”_

“No and thanks for the constipated concern. I’m fine,” Stiles says. “But I think you and I need a little face time.”

“ _Why._ ”

“Really gonna need you to emphasize on the question marks in your sentences, big guy. And as for the why, well, you remember my Aunt Kate?” Stiles heads towards the elevators. “You know how she’s supposed to be lying cold and dead in a morgue. Funny thing. She’s not.”

“ _What._ ”

“Didn’t I just tell you about those question marks? Come on, work with me,” Stiles begs as he steps into an elevator. He presses the button for the first floor.

“ ** _Stiles._** ”

“Okay, okay. Meet me at the hospital. We need to go check this out, a.s.a.p. See if you can get Scott to check out the Beacon Hills cemetery, you know, sniff around Matt’s grave and see if he picks up anything.”

Derek sighs like the grumpy Gus he is and says, “ _Fine._ ”

“Cool, see you in— _and_ he hung up on me. Awesome,” Stiles says before rolling his eyes. He steps off the elevator when it comes to a complete stop and the doors slide open as he shoots Jackson a quick text, telling him to tell his grandfather that he went home to change or shower or something in case he asks. Since he’s not really watching where he’s going he bumps into a nurse juggling a whole bunch of patient files.

The files and its contents go flying.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Stiles says, scrambling to help the pretty brunette. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” the nurse laughs. “I’m a complete klutz anyway, so it was bound to happen. I don’t know why I thought I could handle this.”

“You look like you were doing just fine until I happened to you,” Stiles points out and she laughs. “I’m Stiles by the way, in case you want to put a name to the face you’ll no doubt be trashing in your diary tonight.”

“Jennifer Blake,” she laughs, responding in kind. “And, uh, I promise I wont trash you in my diary. It’s not like you walked off and ignored me like most people do when I cross paths with them. So, nothing but good things to say.”

Stiles grins and helps her with the last of the files before they both stand. “There. All set.”

“Thank you,” Jennifer says with a wide smile. “It’s my first week here, and, I’ve been having a rough time.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, and he feels a little bad. “I’m sure it’ll change.”

“Maybe,” Jennifer supposes with a lighthearted shrugs. “So far the stars haven’t aligned in my favor.”

Stiles nods before rubbing the back of his head as an awkward silence descends over them. “I don’t know much about astrology but I do know that sometimes things tend to get better before they get worse, so hang in there.”

“I will do my best.”

“Cool,” Stiles says when he doesn’t know what else to say. “Well, bye.”

Jennifer nods with an amused grin before she walks away.

Stiles watches her disappear around a corner before he looks down and around for his phone. He finds it and continues towards the exits. He manages to evade the reporters camping out in front of the hospital and waits until Derek pulls up in his black Camaro.

“Get in.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but he climbs in and buckles his seatbelt. “Would it kill you to—”

“Shut up.”

“You know, I distinctly remember you being nicer. What changed? Maybe—”

“Shut up.”

Stiles sighs. It was going to be a long night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it, maybe rec it to others too? Please?
> 
> http://whatshouldntbe.tumblr.com


End file.
